


but first we'll live

by thearkdelinquents



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Game of Thrones AU, Game of Thrones-esque, Prince!Bellamy, princess!clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-10-28 19:44:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thearkdelinquents/pseuds/thearkdelinquents
Summary: “You have guests, Your Grace. From Dorne.”Clarke recognized the city but didn’t know who to expect. Dorne was far from King’s Landing and the Dornish hardly made appearances at court. Her father, however, nodded in recognition and started to descend the dias.“Yes, yes, of course. Please, bring our guests in.”The knight hurried back out the door and down the steps. A minute later a new night came in, bearing a sigil. A great black horse on an orange field. Clarke recognized it at once, the lessons with her septa coming back to her.“Prince Bellamy and Princess Octavia of House Blake of Dorne.” The herald cried out as the siblings crossed the threshold.-Bellarke Game of Thrones AU





	1. Chapter 1

Jake Griffin looked comfortable in the monstrous seat, as impossible as that seemed. The swords and spikes that made up the throne were perilously tricky to sit on and it was said that the Iron Throne was dangerous to those who did not deserve to sit on it. However, through his long reign, he had learned the maze of the throne and knew where not to places his hands and fingers. He had sat in that chair long enough to not have to look where he was resting his arm or hesitate before shifting his weight. He looked like he was made for the Iron Throne.

Clarke Griffin, however, was not particularly fond of the uncomfortable chair she was sat in. To the right of her mother who was to the right of her father, Clarke fidgeted in her seat. The ornate woodwork made for a beautiful seat, but it was not meant for the long hours she had to sit, watching people from all over come to speak and appeal to her father. That particular day was long, the morning filled with farmers asking for advice on harvests to lords giving reports on political dealings throughout the realm.

Clarke looked over at her father. He looked tired but king. He dealt with the proceedings with the utmost care; all matters were of equal importance no matter lord or merchant. The King had inherited the throne by birth, his father before him was the King of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm. People throughout the realm called him Jake the Gentle after the way he always took care of his people. When Clarke told him about that one night he had just laughed and said, “The Iron Throne is no place for a gentle man.” Yet there he sat, Clarke thought. All soft yet strong.

As the sun was dipping low in the sky, the day’s proceedings were finally coming to an end. As the last merchant was dismissed, Clarke’s father rose from his throne and cleared his throat.

“Is there any other man or woman seeking council from the king on this day?” His voice rang out across the throne room clear and powerful. No one spoke up, there were mostly only nights and squires left in the grand hall.

He looked around the room again, “Hearing none, we shall-“

“I beg your pardons, Your Grace.” A knight ushered in the hall from the open doors at the other end, his white cloak billowing out behind him. Clarke groaned internally, she had been so excited to leave.

“It is no problem, ser. What is the matter?”

“You have guests, Your Grace. From Dorne.”

Clarke recognized the city but didn’t know who to expect. Dorne was far from King’s Landing and the Dornish hardly made appearances at court. Her father, however, nodded in recognition and started to descend the dias.

“Yes, yes, of course. Please, bring our guests in.”

The knight hurried back out the door and down the steps. A minute later a new night came in, bearing a sigil. A great black horse on an orange field. Clarke recognized it at once, the lessons with her septa coming back to her.

“Prince Bellamy and Princess Octavia of House Blake of Dorne.” The herald cried out as the siblings crossed the threshold.

They walked side by side with easy grace, their immediate company composed of a handful of knights and their accompanying squires. Clarke’s maester had taught her there were 3 types of Dornishmen, the sandy who preoccupied the deserts of Dorne, the salty who lived on the beaches, and the stony, who took up residence in the mountain. It was said that the sandy were the closest relatives to the First Men and the stony the furthest. The princess was thin and muscular; her dark hair marked that of a sandy Dornishman, though her paler complexion was that of a stony Dornishman. It was common in Dorne for kings and queens to take paramours so it was not strange that the siblings had qualities of different families. Clarke looked over at the prince and sat up a little straighter. He had dark hair like his sister but that was where the similarities seemed to end. The prince was a sandy Dornishman through and through. He was tall and muscular, though not sinewy like his sister. Where her hair fell straight down her back, his curls flopped against his brow, framing his face. His dark complexion complimented the dark orange doublet he was wearing nicely.

“Forgive us, Your Grace, for arriving so early without notice,” Prince Bellamy said as he and his sister approached the dais. His voice rang throughout the mostly empty hall as he smiled and took a bow.

“Oh, nonsense! It is no trouble at all,” the king insisted. Clarke stood and followed her father down the steps. “Though if I had had notice I would have sent a party to greet you and bring you into the castle.” The king, the queen, and Clarke stopped in front of the siblings. The sister was about Clarke’s height and the prince was as tall as her father. Clarke noticed the smattering of freckles across the prince’s nose and cheeks

“Ah yes, we would have sent notice but it seems our maester left the ravens in Dorne.” Bellamy said, shaking the king’s hand. Bellamy turned to the queen and then to Clarke, his eyes locking into hers. He bowed and kissed her hand and Clarke hoped he didn’t notice the blush starting to creep up her neck. The prince was undeniably attractive and by the easy grin he wore on his face, he knew that. She curtseyed and turned her attention back to her father.

“The maesters can remember who begat whom back in the times of the First Men but they can’t remember a bird,” the princess said, smirking as she curtseyed before Clarke and her family. Clarke found the princess beautiful as well, her hair shiny around her face.

The king laughed and motioned for one of the knights standing guard at the wall of the hall to approach. “Marcus, find suitable rooms for the Blakes’ and their guests until more permanent lodging can be arranged.” Clarke hadn’t known the Dornishmen were coming at all, let alone needing permanent rooms. There was something her parents were hiding from her, but it was not the time to ask.

Clarke glanced back at the prince before turning to depart. He looked at her at the same time and winked. Clarke’s stomach did a flip and she looked away quickly. Thankfully her father was engrossed in a conversation with the Lord Commander of The Kingsguard about where the Blake’s should stay.

Finally, the prince and princess and their company were escorted to Maegor’s Holdfast, leaving Clarke and her parents alone in the great throne room.

Clarke turned to her father after the doors closed. “More permanent lodging?”

“Yes, sweetie… I need to tell you something.” Her father sat down on one of the steps below the throne and patted the space next to him. Clarke sat with him, a frown already on her face. “Thelonius Jaha is stepping down as Hand and returning to the North.”

Clarke’s stomach dropped. Jaha had been Hand of The King since before Clarke was born. He was like an uncle to her. And Wells… “Does that mean Wells is leaving?”

“We don’t know Wells intentions,” her mother said, standing behind her father.

Clarke wiped away the tears in her eyes with the back of her hand. “When were you going to tell me? And why?”

“Well, Thelonius wishes to go back home. They say winter is coming soon and he feels it is his duty as Warden of The North to make sure his people are taken care of. And the Queen of Dorne suggested an alliance between our kingdoms would be beneficial for our people and I-”

Clarke jumped up suddenly, angry. “So this was his idea?!” Clarke demanded, gesturing at the door.

“What? No. His mother only suggested-”

“So he just gets to walk in here and take Jaha’s position and you send Jaha and Wells back to the North?” Clarke was fuming.

“Jaha approached me about going back to Winterfell many moons ago and I am not going to make him stay if he does not wish to. An alliance with Dorne is important to keeping peace. I’m sorry if you don’t it, but it is what Jaha wants.” Her father’s tone was final and Clarke knew better than to argue.

“May I ask for your leave, father?” Clarke said through gritted teeth. He nodded and she whirled around, leaving through the back entrance towards the Tower of The Hand.

She flung open the outer door and walked right into Bellamy Blake. She fell flat on her butt while he barely moved.

“Excuse me, princess. I believe this is a sidewalk.” He smiled at her and he extended his arm to help her up.

She dodged his grasp and stood up on her own, brushing off her skirts. “Get out of my way.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Ooh, the princess isn’t so proper after all. I am a prince.” His tone was light, teasing.

“Yes, a bastard prince upjumping to Hand of The King,” she fired back.

The prince stiffened and his eyes narrowed at her. The look he gave her was full of ice. “I may be a bastard but at least I am not a spoiled princess looking down my nose at everyone around me while my parents leave me out of the dealings of the realm for this precise reason right here.”

He turned and stalked away from her, leaving her alone. Why he had been alone walking through the streets of the Red Keep she didn’t know, but she was grateful they were alone. His words stung and she was glad no one else was around to hear them. Or what she had said to him. It was disgraceful and not befitting of a lady. She was not regretful enough to forget her anger, though. She stomped off again towards the tower.

She waited outside the door while the knight stationed outside asked for permission for her to enter. After a few moments the door swung open and Clarke stormed into the chamber.

“Clarke-” Wells started, a sad expression on his face.

“How long have you known?” She spit out, folding her arms across her chest.

“I swear, I-” Wells pleaded.

“You were just going to leave me here without saying anything?”

A look of confusion flashed across Wells’ face. “Clarke, I’m not leaving.”

The weight on Clarke’s chest lifted slightly. “What?”

He walked across the room to her, pulling her down to sit next to him. “My father is returning to the North but I’m staying here.” He grabbed her hands, “I’m training to be a member of the Kingsguard.”

All of the breath left Clarke at once but this time not in dread. Wells, her best and longest friend, was staying here. He wasn’t leaving her alone. “The Kingsguard?” she whispered.

He nodded at her, gauging her face for a response.

“Wells, you’ll be great!” She hugged him and he laughed, relieved.

“I thought you would hate the idea of me being a knight of the Kingsguard.”

She pulled back, “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t know if you’d think it was weird that I was guarding your dad,” he laughed.

“I would trust no one more,” she smiled at him.

She left Wells’ chambers feeling much lighter than she had going in. Of course Wells wouldn’t leave her, she had been silly to think he would. She would miss his father, but she understood his duty to his people. She felt bad for what she had said to Bellamy earlier that day in her anger. Smoothing down her hair and straightening her shoulders, she left the Tower of The Hand and walked towards Maegor’s Holdfast.

The sun had set while she had been with Wells and the night had a slight chill. Winter truly is coming, she said as she wrapped her arms around herself. The walk across the courtyard was a short one and she easily dodged the member of the Kingsguard who would surely try to escort her back to her bedchambers. That’s one nice thing about Wells being in the Kingsguard, Clarke thought, I would have at least one man in a white cloak not questioning my every move to report back to my mother. She knew her mother meant well, but her constant smothering was irritating. She was a woman flowered, she should be allowed to roam her own castle.

As she approached the door to the prince’s chambers, two girls slid through the door, giggling. Highborn or not, Clarke knew whores when she saw them.

“Can I help you, Princess?” Bellamy was leaned against the door frame, biting into an apple. His tunic was unlaced, exposing his broad, tanned chest.

Clarke tore her eyes away from his skin. “Aren’t you a prince? You shouldn’t have whores in your chambers.”

“Do I sense jealousy?” He walked towards her, a smirk on his face. Clarke realized they were alone in the hallway.

“Any man who has to resort to whores for pleasure surely doesn’t have any skills that I should want.” Clarke lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with her hard stare.

He got even closer to her, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m wounded. Tell me, what does a maiden princess like yourself know about the skills a man has?” He tugged on the lace on her sleeves.

Her cheeks burned red and she pulled her arm out of his reach, “I did not give you permission to touch me.” She stepped back from him, recovering easily. “I came here to apologize for my remarks this morning. It was ill-mannered of me and I was angry. I beg for your forgiveness,” she said, a stony expression on her face.

The smile remained on his face, amused. “I’ve been called worse things than a bastard prince. I forgive you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. Your forgiveness means everything to me.” She curtsied and exited the hallway, feeling flustered, irritated, confused, and his eyes on her until the door closed behind her.

By the time she got back to her room, it was well past dark and she had missed dinner. Her mother would not be pleased but her father wouldn’t care. After answering questions about why she missed dinner from the Kingsguard member posted at her door, Clarke called on her maids to fetch her a warm bath. It had been a long day and her legs still ached from the uncomfortable chair she had to sit in for most of it.

As one of her handmaids scrubbed her skin raw and another brushed through the tangle of blonde curls at the back of her head, Clarke found her thoughts going back to the Blakes. More specifically, Bellamy. She knew court was more… relaxed in Dorne, but she didn’t know it was commonplace for a prince to invite whores into his bedchambers with no sense of secrecy. She reasoned that it bothered her so much because it was taking place in her father’s castle, in the room he provided for them. And the way he had pointed out her being a maiden infuriated her. It was true, but the way he said it made it seem like it was a bad thing. Clarke had flowered many moons ago and many of the girls her age at court were already married to some lord or in the process.

None of that had ever bothered Clarke before, though. She had kissed many people htrough her life, some boys and some girls. The idea of simply being married off for politics made her feel like a piece of meat and she didn’t like it. She preferred thinking about other things like the secret lessons she had with her maester or ways her father could improve the kingdom. Her mother had always wanted her to be a lady through and through but Clarke enjoyed stitches in skin over stitches in fabric. Clarke smiled thinking about the memory of her father catching her trying to sew up a cut in Wells leg when she was a child with her embroidery needle because she had seen Maester Jackson do it once. He never told her mother but instead set up secret lessons with the maester to teach her the proper way of stitches and other medicines. She knew she could never be a maester, but the knowledge Maester Jackson gave her made her feel like she was more than just the king’s daughter.

Soon the water ran cold and it was time for Clarke to go to bed. Her handmaids helped her dry off and she put on her slip. She had hoped sleep would come easy, but she tossed and turned all night, thinking about the Blakes and the future of the kingdom with a Dornishman as Hand. Eventually sleep took her and she dreamed of summer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smile remained on his face, amused. “I’ve been called worse things than a bastard prince. I forgive you.”
> 
> “Thank you, Your Grace. Your forgiveness means everything to me.” She curtsied and exited the hallway, feeling flustered, irritated, confused, and his eyes on her until the door closed behind her.

She waited outside the door while the knight stationed outside asked for permission for her to enter. After a few moments the door swung open and Clarke stormed into the chamber.

“Clarke-” Wells started, a sad expression on his face.

“How long have you known?” She spit out, folding her arms across her chest.

“I swear, I-” Wells pleaded.

“You were just going to leave me here without saying anything?”

A look of confusion flashed across Wells’ face. “Clarke, I’m not leaving.”

The weight on Clarke’s chest lifted slightly. “What?”

He walked across the room to her, pulling her down to sit next to him. “My father is returning to the North but I’m staying here.” He grabbed her hands, “I’m training to be a member of the Kingsguard.”

All of the breath left Clarke at once but this time not in dread. Wells, her best and longest friend, was staying here. He wasn’t leaving her alone. “The Kingsguard?” she whispered.

He nodded at her, gauging her face for a response.

“Wells, you’ll be great!” She hugged him and he laughed, relieved.

“I thought you would hate the idea of me being a knight of the Kingsguard.”

She pulled back, “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t know if you’d think it was weird that I was guarding your dad,” he laughed.

“I would trust no one more,” she smiled at him. 

She left Wells’ chambers feeling much lighter than she had going in. Of course Wells wouldn’t leave her, she had been silly to think he would. She would miss his father, but she understood his duty to his people. She felt bad for what she had said to Bellamy earlier that day in her anger. Smoothing down her hair and straightening her shoulders, she left the Tower of The Hand and walked towards Maegor’s Holdfast.

The sun had set while she had been with Wells and the night had a slight chill. Winter truly is coming, she said as she wrapped her arms around herself. The walk across the courtyard was a short one and she easily dodged the member of the Kingsguard who would surely try to escort her back to her bedchambers. That’s one nice thing about Wells being in the Kingsguard, Clarke thought, I would have at least one man in a white cloak not questioning my every move to report back to my mother. She knew her mother meant well, but her constant smothering was irritating. She was a woman flowered, she should be allowed to roam her own castle.

As she approached the door to the prince’s chambers, two girls slid through the door, giggling. Highborn or not, Clarke knew whores when she saw them.

“Can I help you, Princess?” Bellamy was leaned against the door frame, biting into an apple. His tunic was unlaced, exposing his broad, tanned chest. 

Clarke tore her eyes away from his skin and back to his face. “Aren’t you a prince? You shouldn’t have whores in your chambers.”

“Do I sense jealousy?” He walked towards her, a smirk on his face. Clarke suddenly realized they were alone in the hallway.

“Any man who has to resort to whores for pleasure surely doesn’t have any skills that I should want.” Clarke lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with her hard stare.

He got even closer to her, lifting an eyebrow. “I’m wounded. Tell me, what does a maiden princess like yourself know about the skills a man has?” He tugged on the lace on her sleeves and looked up at her through his eyelashes.

Her cheeks burned red and she pulled her arm out of his reach, “I did not give you permission to touch me.” She stepped back from him, recovering easily. “I came here to apologize for my remarks this morning. It was ill-mannered of me and I was angry. I beg your forgiveness,” she said, a stony expression on her face.

The smile remained on his face, amused. “I’ve been called worse things than a bastard prince. I forgive you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. Your forgiveness means everything to me.” She curtsied and exited the hallway, feeling flustered, irritated, confused, and his eyes on her until the door closed behind her.

By the time she got back to her room, it was well past dark and she had missed dinner. Her mother would not be pleased but her father wouldn’t care. After answering questions about why she missed dinner from the Kingsguard member posted at her door, Clarke called on her maids to fetch her a warm bath. It had been a long day and her legs still ached from the uncomfortable chair she had to sit in for most of it. 

As one of her handmaids scrubbed her skin raw and another brushed through the tangle of blonde curls at the back of her head, Clarke found her thoughts going back to the Blakes. More specifically, Bellamy. She knew court was more… relaxed in Dorne, but she didn’t know it was commonplace for a prince to invite whores into his bedchambers with no sense of secrecy. She reasoned that it bothered her so much because it was taking place in her father’s castle, in the room he provided for them. And the way he had pointed out her being a maiden infuriated her. It was true, but the way he said it made it seem like it was a bad thing. Clarke had flowered many moons ago and many of the girls her age at court were already married to some lord or in the process, but none of that had ever bothered Clarke before. She had kissed many people in her life, some boys and some girls. 

The idea of simply being married off for politics made her feel like a piece of meat and she didn’t like it. She preferred thinking about other things like the secret lessons she had with her maester or ways her father could improve the kingdom. Her mother had always wanted her to be a lady through and through but Clarke enjoyed stitches in skin over stitches in fabric. Clarke smiled thinking about the memory of her father catching her trying to sew up a cut in Wells leg when she was a child with her embroidery needle because she had seen Maester Jackson do it once. He never told her mother but instead set up secret lessons with the maester to teach her the proper way of stitches and other medicines. She knew she could never be a maester, but the knowledge Maester Jackson gave her made her feel like she was more than just the king’s daughter.

Soon the water ran cold and it was time for Clarke to go to bed. Her handmaids helped her dry off and she put on her slip. She had hoped sleep would come easy, but she tossed and turned all night, thinking about the Blakes and the future of the kingdom with a Dornishman as Hand. Eventually sleep took her and she dreamed of summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I AM GOING TO UPDATE THIS REGULARLY OKAY I PROMISE.
> 
> anywho, please leave feedback! love reading you guys' comments.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come in.” She heard him say, muffled through the door. She opened the large wooden door to find him sitting in a plump armchair in the corner reading a book by candlelight. She was surprised to see him reading at all, and even more surprised to see the several piles of books surrounding him.
> 
> “You read?” she asked, somewhat stupidly.
> 
> He looked up at her and closed his book. “Yes… I read.” He said, smirking at her.

Clarke woke the next morning just after the sun had risen above the horizon. For a moment, still groggy from sleep, she had forgotten about yesterday and how drastically everything around her changed. It was short-lived, though, as her handmaids came in giggling.

“What is so funny at this hour?” Clarke said, sitting up in her featherbed. 

The girls started at the sound of her voice, no doubt surprised she was awake this early.

“Oh nothing…” the small girl said, opening the curtains wider.

“We just ran into The Hand…” They both giggled again.

What was so funny about Jaha? She thought. But then she remembered, Bellamy. She rolled her eyes and hopped out of bed to get dressed and start the day. 

She went to go find Wells but his training had begun and he was in the yard, practicing swords with other boys and Kingsguard. She sat and watched for a while. Wells was good and giving the stableboy, John Murphy a run for his money but when he paired up against Lincoln, a member of the Kingsguard, it was clear Wells still had a lot of training to do. 

As Lincoln and Wells sparred, Octavia Blake approached Clarke.

“What’s this?” She asked, her hand resting on her own sword.

“They are training potential members of the Kingsguard.” Clarke said, her attention still on Wells.

Octavia unbuckled her sheath and approached the men. “Who’s willing to let a lady beat them?”

Clarke’s eyes went wide as Octavia drew her sword. All of the men stopped their fighting and looked at her. They all broke out into laughter. Clarke couldn’t blame them, Octavia’s small frame looked ridiculous next to the large build of the Kingsguard. To her credit, Octavia never wavered but stood there, waiting.

“I’ll take you.” John Murphy said, moving towards her.

“John, you are not going to beat a lady.” Nathan Miller said as he adjusted his white cloak fastens.

“You’re right on that.” Octavia said, assuming her stance across from Murphy. “Don’t go easy on me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Murphy said, smirking.

Clarke straightened, riveted at the scene in front of her. Murphy made the first move, bringing his sword down in a large arc, but that was exactly what Octavia wanted him to do. She dodged the sword almost lazily and smacked the back of Murphy’s legs with the flat of her sword. The yard rang out in laughter again.

Murphy straightened, rolling his shoulders back and assuming his stance again. “I let her do that.” 

He quickened his strikes this time, managing to make contact a couple of times, but Octavia was faster. For every hit Murphy made, she made two. They were both quick and small, it was like watching two snakes fight.

Octavia lunged forward with her sword, but Murphy knocked it out of her hand. Clarke thought it was over, but Octavia was fast. She brought both of her arms down on his elbow as he tried to move past her. She kicked the back of his knee and he buckled as she grabbed his sword from his hand and held it at his neck while he kneeled in front of her.

“Did you let me do that?” Octavia said, her hair blowing wildly around her face. She dropped the sword on the ground in front of him and everyone in the yard cheered as Murphy sheepishly picked up his sword. The Kingsguard were making jests at Murphy’s expense and Clarke was laughing when they heard Bellamy’s voice ring out across the yard.

“Octavia!” Bellamy stomped to her. “What are you doing?”

“What, big brother? I’m just showing the Kingsguard how to swordfight.” Octavia wiped the dirt off of her sword on her pants and sheathed it again.

Bellamy ran his hands through his hair, exasperated. “I’m sorry, sers.” He arched an eyebrow at Octavia. It was fascinating to watch Bellamy try to parent her.

“Don’t be. It’s time someone knocked Murphy on his ass.” Wells called back. 

Bellamy grinned back and his expression softened. Bellamy spotted Clarke across the yard and approached her.

“Princess.”

“Bellamy.” Clarke bent her head to curtsey.

“Please don’t bow to me, I’m not the king.”

“Funny, I thought you liked having power over people.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Then you clearly don’t know me.”

Clarke just stared back.

“We have a small council meeting in ten minutes, your father has requested your attendance.” He turned on his heel and walked back towards the castle.

Clarke took a second to collect herself and smooth down her skirts and follow him in. She was a few paces behind him so he was already seated beside her father when she entered.

“Clarke!” the king exclaimed when he saw his daughter enter. She took the only empty chair beside her mother and diagonal from Bellamy.

“Sweetheart, why are you here?” The queen’s voice was warm but her eyes looked at Clarke sharply. Her mother wasn’t cold but she thought Clarke should be more practiced in manners than politics.

“Father asked me.” Clarke glanced at Bellamy. He was sitting straight in his chair, looking at the parchment in front of him. His brow was furrowed as he read the words on the parchment.

Clarke’s mother turned to the king. “She is well old enough to sit in on council meetings. This is her kingdom too.”

The look on the queen’s face made it obvious she wanted to argue but her father’s tone was final. The awkward tension in the room hung there for a second before the master of coin cleared his throat.

“Well, first, we need to discuss the tourney in honor of the appointment of our new Hand.”

Bellamy groaned across the table from her. “We really don’t need a tourney.” Clarke was surprised- normally the Dornish loved celebrations and extravagance.

“Nonsense, Bellamy. We haven’t had a new appointment to Hand in over 20 years and almost near as long since we’ve had a good tourney.” Clarke’s father waved off Bellamy’s dismay.

“Besides, tourneys are a great flow of coins coming directly into King’s Landing.” Clarke said. Everyone turned to look at her, surprised she spoke.

Her father laughed, “Excellent point, Clarke. Careful, she might have your job soon,” he gestured towards the master of coin. He blushed beside her and Clarke grinned at the glare Bellamy gave her. She loved tourneys and if it made Bellamy uncomfortable, even better.

The tourney was decided to be a grand event, with invitations extended to every great house across the seven kingdoms. It would take place across three days, a melee one day, jousting the next, and a feast on the third. With guests arriving and departing, though, the whole thing was expected to last about a week. They planned where to house and feed guests and how many gold dragons to award the winners of the games. After all was said and the event was planned, Bellamy’s jaw was ticking and his arms were crossed across his chest. 

The rest of the council meeting continued without much fanfare, though Clarke was intrigued to see how well Bellamy performed as Hand. He was confident in his abilities, even with the rest of the council waiting to pounce if he made a mistake. The issues in front of the council that day weren’t drastic, just small land disputes between houses. The meeting ended just before dinner.

After it was adjourned, Clarke approached Bellamy.

“Can I help you, Princess?” he said as he collected his parchments, not looking at her. She was a princess but he said the word like some would say wench.

“You handled yourself well. The council members can be very prickly sometimes-”

“Yes, it’s because I just love holding power over people. If you’ll excuse me.” He pushed past her and out of the back of the hall.

Not for the first time today, Clarke rolled her eyes at Bellamy and left the hall to eat dinner with her family.

-

The tourney came fast. People and knights had already arrived and Clarke had the duty to welcome the great houses. She had sat in on a number of small council meetings since her first, and she hadn’t had many interactions with Bellamy Blake since. The saw each other often, the Red Keep was small, but there was never anything more than a polite nod and greeting. 

Clarke practically ran towards the Lady of the Eyrie. She curtseyed low in front of her and said “I welcome you graciously to King’s Landing.” 

“Oh shut up!” Raven Reyes pulled Clarke into a long hug. “It’s been so long!” she said as she pulled back from the embrace, looking at Clarke. 

“Too long.” Clarke smiled at her friend. Raven and Clarke had been at court together when they were young, but then a freak accident on the lift in the Vale killed her mother and her older sister, leaving Raven the heir. Clarke had been heartbroken when her friend left, but she knew Raven had to do her duty.

Raven stepped beside Clarke and they started to stroll through the encampment. Raven’s people were setting up tents and starting fires. Every now and then Raven would bark orders at people not putting the tents up in the way she wanted. 

“So, how is King’s Landing?” Raven asks Clarke as they start up the hill towards the garden.

“It’s… interesting.” Clarke said as she saw Bellamy leaving the castle. 

Raven followed her eye line and spotted Bellamy herself. “Oh really?” Raven looked back at her old friend with a smirk on her face.

“What? Oh, no. It’s not like that. He’s insufferable.” Raven rolled her eyes at Clarke as they sat on the grass in the shade beneath a wall. “Honestly, Raven! He comes up here from Dorne, with hardly any previous relationship with King’s Landing and gets to make decisions for its people. And, on top of that, he is a total ass half the time.”

“Well at least you’re not married to him.” Raven said, stretching her legs out underneath her.

Clarke’s head whipped towards her friend.

“Oh, relax. I just mean that most political alliances are sealed with marriage, not a seat on a council.”

Clarke thought about that for a second. Raven was right and Clarke was quite old enough to be married. Her father had always said he would never marry her off without her permission, though. An alliance with Dorne was paramount to keeping peace in the kingdoms. Bellamy’s appointment to Hand had calmed the seas but marrying Dorne to the Iron Throne would keep any future chaos at bay. It would also make Bellamy heir to the Iron Throne… But her father would never do that to her. He always said family was more important than politics. Besides, word had spread through King’s Landing that Bellamy was to be betrothed to Echo, a lady of the Iron Islands. There had been rumors of a rebellion rising and people figured it would be the best way to extinguish the issue before it even began. Clarke had met Echo, she was here for the tourney. She couldn’t get quite a good read on the girl, but she seemed intense.

Clarke and Raven sat underneath the shadow of the castle, hidden from view for hours, catching up. Raven was a great leader for the Vale, she was constantly solving their architectural issues and refused to hire stonemason leaders to do work she knew she could do. Eventually night fell and Raven went to her tent.

-

Even though it was in his honor, the Hand didn’t quite often attend the Hand’s tourney. Bellamy attended the morning rounds of the melee but he looked downright miserable every time a contestant would salute him and the king on their way into the ring. His sister, Octavia, absolutely enjoyed every minute of it. She was on the edge of her seat with a glint in her eye every time someone was thrown to the ground. Bellamy seemed to enjoy the fighting, he laughed along with his sister, but every time someone brought up the fact that this was in his honor he visibly grimaced. He sat on the right side of the king and Clarke was on her father’s left. She kept watching his reactions to things, finding it more entertaining than the fighting half the time.

He didn’t return to the stands after lunch, though his sister did. She offered some excuse about meetings for him. Clarke knew he just didn’t want to be applauded in front of everyone. Besides, half the realm was at the tourney so who he could be meeting she had no clue. He was probably just bossing people around somewhere. Or sleeping with a whore.

The melee was championed by Niko of house Woods. He killed or disabled everyone around him, leaving him the sole person left in the middle of the ring. The crowd went up in an uproar as he stuck his sword through his last competitor. Niko was a favorite of the crowd. He made a show of his killing and was fun to watch. Finally, after the applause died down, Niko collected his dragons and everyone made their drunken way back to their tents or rooms. 

When they got back to the castle, her father approached her with a roll of parchment.

“Clarke, I know it’s late but could you take this to the Hand? It’s important and I would ask one of the Kingsguard but they’ve had a long enough day standing in the sun and half of them are preparing for jousting tomorrow.”

“Of course!” Clarke took the parchment and made her way towards his quarters. She knocked on his door, half hoping he was asleep and she wouldn’t have to talk to him. 

“Come in.” She heard him say, muffled through the door. She opened the large wooden door to find him sitting in a plump armchair in the corner reading a book by candlelight. She was surprised to see him reading at all, and even more surprised to see the several piles of books surrounding him.

“You read?” she asked, somewhat stupidly.

He looked up at her and closed his book. “Yes… I read.” He said, smirking at her.

Clarke cleared her throat awkwardly. “I just mean, I didn’t really expect you to read books for fun. You seem to hate even the parchments you have to read at council meetings.”

“Yes, well, those are boring. These,” he gestured towards the books around him. “are interesting.”

“Mmm.” Clarke glanced around his quarters. There were even more books than just the ones by his chair. They were on shelves, piled by his bed, open on his desk. She had expected him to be sleeping or entertaining women of court not… reading.

“So are you here to make jests at the way I spend my free time or…?”

“Oh, right.” Clarke walked over and handed him the parchment. “This is from my father.”

“Does that man ever sleep?” He said, taking the parchment from her and breaking the seal.

“Not much.” She turned and paused at the door. “Oh, it would be considered polite to stay at the tourney thrown in your honor for more than a couple of hours.”

“I don’t know, I think I’m coming down with a fever.” He fake- coughed for effect, not even glancing up from the parchment.

Clarke laughed and made her way back to her quarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a bit longer! hope you all enjoyed!
> 
> added another chapter with this update since it was so long in between my updates.
> 
> As always, PLEASE leave feeback!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On one end of the track was a knight with the sigil of Bear island across his broad chest. But it was the other man that drew the crowds attention. Mystery knights were not uncommon in tourneys, but this mystery knight commanded attention. Normally mystery knights had armor of mixed pieces bought from several different blacksmiths, resulting in a motley suit. This mystery knight, however, sat on top of a large tan horse in shiny black armor. The sunlight reflected off of the breastplate into everyone’s eyes. The mystery knight’s shield bore no sigil and his jousting stick had no flags.

Clarke was careful getting ready the next morning. She picked a blue dress that was the exact color of her eyes. It was low cut in the front, showing off her breasts, but not so lo cut it was unladylike. She had her ladies pull part of her hair away from her face while the rest of her hair fell in golden ringlets. When she looked into the looking glass, she smiled. Today was the big day of the tourney. Melees drew a crowd, but everyone showed up for jousting. She was hoping to bring a knight or a lady back to her quarters tonight, it had been a while.

She opened the doors of her quarters and walked out straight into a wall. Or, at least, wha had felt like a wall.

“Ouch.” Clarke pulled back, rubbing her forehead.

“Could you wa- Oh.” Bellamy Blake was what she had ran into. He was staring at her, his eyes flicking down to her chest. 

Clarke cleared her throat and smoothed down her skirts.

Bellamy shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. “We have got to stop running into each other like this.” He looked her up and down again. “You look nice.”

Clarke was taken aback by the compliment. Normally their conversations consisted of insults thrown at each other. “Um… thank you. You look nice, too, for someone with a fever.” She raised an eyebrow at him. He was in a dark blue doublet, trimmed in black.

“Ahh, yes. I’m thinking my fever will really take me after the first round of knights running each other over in my honor.” He picked at his sleeve. “Well, I better go find Octavia. I’ll see you later, Princess.” 

Clarke watched him walk down the hallway and around the corner before she made her way to the tourney stands.

The first rounds were as entertaining as ever- hedge knights were unhorsed in grand fashion by a couple of members of the Kingsguard and other well established knights. The crowd was living for it all, gasping at every close call, cheering at every body hitting the ground. Once, in a cheap shot by a desperate hedge knight, a horse had been impaled by the jousting stick. King Griffin had ruled it unsportsmanlike and the hedge knight was disqualified. 

Clarke kept watching Bellamy’s reactions to it all. He wasn’t laughing with Octavia today, but rather watching each joust intently, like he was analyzing something. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he watched Ser Miller of the Kingsguard unhorse a knight of the Towers. Clarke was watching his face when he looked over and caught her staring. She whipped her attention back to the joust as a blush creeped up her neck.

True to his word, Bellamy didn’t return after lunch.

“He says he has a fever.” Clarke’s father said from the throne beside her mother. “I think he just doesn’t like all of this attention.”

A cheer went up through the crowd as two new contestants entered the tracks. A knight of the Vale rode in on a grey palfrey while a knight of Winterfell rode in on a black stud. The match was quick, the Winterfell knight unhorsed his competition on the first pass. The next two that rode in sent the crowd silent.

On one end of the track was a knight with the sigil of Bear island across his broad chest. But it was the other man that drew the crowds attention. Mystery knights were not uncommon in tourneys, but this mystery knight commanded attention. Normally mystery knights had armor of mixed pieces bought from several different blacksmiths, resulting in a motley suit. This mystery knight, however, sat on top of a large tan horse in shiny black armor. The sunlight reflected off of the breastplate into everyone’s eyes. The mystery knight’s shield bore no sigil and his jousting stick had no flags.

The two men took their places on the end of the track. While the mystery knight sat tall, the knight of Bear Island sat broad. The man looked a bear himself. The mystery knight would have a hard time unseating this large of a man. For the first time, the crowd was quiet as the first pass began. Clarke was on the edge of her seat, focused on the riders. Everyone was intrigued by this mystery knight, but not exactly confident he could unhorse the bear. 

They just barely missed each other on their first pass and everyone sat with baited breath as they lined up for their second pass. His time, he didn’t miss. The mystery knight hit the other square in the chest with his lance. The lance exploded into shards and the large man fell flat on his back in the dirt behind his horse.

The crowd uproar was deafening. The mystery knight was instantly a crowd favorite. As the rounds wore on, the mystery knight took out some victors. Clarke figured out his pattern. He would go on the defensive on the first pass, observing his opponents attack style and use it against him in the second pass. Rarely did anyone last past the second pass. After his fifth round, the crowd started to chant Dark Knight! Dark Knight! Dark Knight!

The final four jousters were the Dark Knight, Ser Miller, a knight who went by The Tree, and Ser Emerson of the Neck.

Ser Miller finally unhorsed The Tree in the third pass after two glancing blows. Ser Emerson was malicious in his attacks on the Dark Knight, but the mystery knight was ready and used Emerson’s aggressive offensive strategies to get him off balance and knocked off his horse.

When Ser Miller and the Dark Knight faced off on the ends of the track, no one could hear over the crowds yells. Clarke loved Miller, she had known him for a long time, but she would be lying if she said she wanted him to win. The mystery knight was alluring and powerful and Clarke loved a good mystery.

They lined up across the pass on each side of the rail and took off. Clarke could tell Ser Miller was holding back since the Dark Knight wouldn’t attack on the first blow. That ended up being his undoing. The Dark Knight struck true and fast on the first pass and Ser Miller was knocked onto his back, his helmet rolling off of his head. For a second, there was silence. Final blows never ended this quickly. When the crowd realized the Dark Knight had won, they erupted. People were chanting, people were jumping, people were collecting money from bets. The Dark Knight paraded around the tracks, raising his lance into the air like it was a sword.

A squire brought the crown of winter roses out to the mystery knight. Clarke turned to talk to one of her ladies. She knew she wasn’t going to be crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty. She wasn’t homely, but Raven looked downright angelic a few seats down from her and even Octavia Blake had worn a dress today. As Clarke’s lady was exclaiming over the Dark Knight’s speed in the final round, Clarke felt something land in her lap. Her ladies went silent and Clarke was scared to look down.

She turned away from her maid and found the crown of winter roses in her lap. She noticed how quiet the crowd was as everyone stared at her. She looked up at the mystery knight. He was still on his horse on the tracks below. 

The mystery knight reached up and unsnapped the buckle of his helmet. He lifted his helmet and Clarke’s stomach dropped. Underneath the helmet was a mop of dark curls. The smirk on Bellamy Blake’s face deepened as the crowd erupted into cheers. It’s The Hand! The Hand! They yelled. Clarke felt a deep blush creep up her cheeks as anger creeped up her neck. The people rushed the tracks to shake Bellamy’s hand and ogle him up close.

Clarke’s mother smiled at her beside her and even her father had a slight smile. Her maids were fawning over Clarke and her blush deepened when they placed the crown on her head. Although she was angry and humiliated, she took all of the congratulations before stomping back to her quarters. That fucking asshole. He made a fool out of her. Giving her this was a huge joke that he made in front of all of the seven kingdoms.

When she got into her room she looked into the looking glass across her room. The blue of the roses was the same color as her eyes. Which infuriated her. She ripped the crown off of her head and walked towards Bellamy’s chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I REFUSE to let this work collect dust any longer. I have so many ideas and I love them all but it's so hard to write it all down. I don't know how George R.R. Martin does this. He is a god.
> 
> As always, love feedback!

**Author's Note:**

> MY FIRST CHAPTERED WORK! THIS SHOULD BE FUN!
> 
> Please leave feedback (good or bad)! Really excited for this work, I will try my DARNDEST to keep it updated.


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